


Uncle Jaime and the Sports Bra that Started it All

by Kelly123



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Chivalry, F/M, First Date, First Kiss, Fluff, POV Alternating, Unconventional Families
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-13
Updated: 2013-06-09
Packaged: 2017-12-11 17:48:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/801432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kelly123/pseuds/Kelly123
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Myrcella forgets her gear for cheerleading practice and Uncle Jaime comes to the rescue. Brienne and fluffiness happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Uncle Jaime Saves the Day

The corners of his mouth instantly quirked upwards the moment he caught sight of a hulking silhouette making its way towards the staff parking lot. There was no mistaking just who such a shadow might belong to, and he was glad for it. 

The trip to his niece's school had been out of his way and completely inconvenient, but with the appearance of the lacrosse coach, the wasted afternoon just might have a chance to redeem itself. Putting her down always managed to perk him up, and given the grueling phone call he had just endured with his sister, he could use such a thing right about now.

A hundred snarky remarks pieced themselves together in his head as he diverted from the guest lot and into the one reserved for faculty, each more snide than the one before. His Audi was brashly out of place amid the Hondas and minivans which occupied the spaces, most of all next to her old clunker, which was easy enough to identify by the pathetic miniature lacrosse stick dangling from the rear-view mirror. She must have seem him pull up, but she stubbornly kept her eyes directly ahead of herself as he killed the engine and stepped out into the midday sun. Swaggering over to lean against her bumper, he watched her approach through the lens of his Ray Bans and was delighted to find her arms full of lacrosse equipment. 

His smirk widened as he envisioned the contents strewn at her feet and her freckled face burning red with fury along with a bit of embarrassment thrown in for good measure. It was an expression he was quite familiar with.

The one and only Miss Brienne Tarth had come on staff at King's Landing High School the previous semester without much fanfare. Fresh out of university, she was scarcely older than most of the upperclassmen, but had at least a good six inches on most of the boys to set her apart. She taught medieval literature, an obscure elective few students registered for and even fewer cared about, but as the school year advanced along she quickly became known throughout campus as Coach Tarth by both jocks and academics alike. The girls lacrosse team had been a ramshackle bunch of, for lack of a better word, losers before she arrived and managed to turn the their luck around. Games were won, time and time again, and people began to take notice of the blonde backing the team's success. Before long the girls had their act together and were headed to State, and even in this backwards town it didn't take a genius to figure out what variable had been altered in that equation. Had such newfound success happened upon any other individual, it might have equated glory...but that was not the case here.

Coach Tarth quickly showed that she wasn't one for the limelight. She avoided team banquets and made herself scarce after games and practices by transporting the equipment to and from the field by herself. Local news stations quickly learned interviewing her was hopeless, lest they be stuck with useless footage of a tall, ungainly woman staring at the ground while giving monosyllabic answers as to the secret for her team's success. Jaime knew this better than most, because he had been one of those interviewers.

As a sportscaster, and one of the more popular ones around Westeros at that, Jaime Lannister generally stuck with covering the major leagues. Getting his pick of the games might have been an issue with the less established of his co-workers, but his charisma (not to mention his father's influence) abated any qualms the station might have about flying him out of state to whatever game/championship/finals might be transpiring. In return, he never let them down. Audiences always tuned in to listen to whatever the Lion of Lannister had to say in the world of sports, controversial as it might be...even after that whole debacle over his brawl the head of the NFL...

But those charges had been dropped, and viewership hasn't suffered any for it, so he usually didn't have to bother with small potatoes like High School girl's teams. He had personally requested this assignment, though his doing so was quite a shock to the higher ups. Admittedly, he was more than a little curious to find out what was so special about the new 'girl' in town, because from what he'd seen of her on the sidelines, she wasn't anything worth noticing.That changed when his own his niece wouldn't stop singing her praises though.

Myrcella wasn't on the lacrosse team, though he had little doubt she would make one hell of a player if she ever decided to try her hand at it. His sister had been aghast when her only daughter, the one she had tried so fervently to instill her feminist values upon, announced that she had signed up for cheerleader tryouts during her freshman year. After Myrcella made the squad, Cersei had ranted for weeks about the absurdity of it all, though it had seemed obvious to him after the first game that the girl was pure dynamite out there. His sister was proud of her daughter in her own way, but he knew it would have pleased her a hundred times more to see her on the football field rather than cheering on from the sidelines.

Cersei had been cheer captain. It had been their father's idea.

Nevertheless, Myrcella and her cheerleading were the reason he was even up at the school that afternoon, since she had forgot her red sports bra for practice and would be docked for inappropriate dress-out if she showed up in the black one left in her locker from yesterday. He could hear the blush in her voice over the phone when she called him on her lunch block to ask if he could drop it by, but it wasn't as though she had another option. With Cersei in jail (he didn't want to get into that) and Robert long dead, Jaime had been granted custody of his niece and nephews, and suddenly found himself thrust into a world of fatherhood he never expected.

He could only thank the gods Joff was already away at college.

Myrcella would be away as well before long, sooner than expected if she kept taking upper level classes like she had this semester. She had been one of the few to enroll in Tarth's literature class, and since the first day of school she had been nonstop in her admiration for the wench.

(It was a word he had picked up from helping his niece with her homework. He thought it suited the teacher quite well...not to mention he got a kick out of her flushing every time he referred to her as such.)

He thought he knew why the two clicked like they did, though, as much as he hated to admit it. Myrcella was sixteen, suddenly motherless, and despite his awkward attempts at parenting, Jaime knew there was a void in the girl's life only a woman could fill. Coach Tarth barely met the requirements for such (as he had told her on several occasions) but technically she must possess the necessary parts, even if there was no evidence that she ever used them.

He had told her that as well.

Tarth was Cersei's opposite, all soft words and gentle encouragement despite her overpowering appearance, where his sister had loved her children fiercely but held them to a standard which was next to impossible to attain. While Cersei sneered at the vapid nature of her perception of all things related to cheerleading, Brienne had been quick to offer to work with Myrcella on her core to improve her jumps, even allowing the girl to sit in on weight training with the lacrosse team. After delighting in making her squirm in discomfort the first time he attempted to interview her, Jaime further honed the skill when picking his niece up from these practices...and though he would never truly admit it to even himself, he looked forward to the verbal sparring more than he probably should.

It was with this sort of deviously gleeful anticipation that he opened his mouth to call out to her, retort on the tip on his tongue, when his thunder was stolen.

And the words which rang through the air were not half so cleverly thought up as his own...rather, they were downright cruel.

He was well-aware that there were none such creatures as malicious as teenaged girls, of course. He had grown up with Cersei, the ultimate mean girl even before such a thing had a name. She had wielded her control of their school with a vindictive and firmly-clenched fist, ready to lash out at those who dared to cross her, and he had been more than content to help her in controlling her minions. And yet...something had changed since the last time he had heard that very word leave his sister's mouth.

To her credit, Coach Tarth, or Brienne, as she had told him over and over again through clenched teeth to call her, barely flinched when the girl leaned out her car window and shouted such filth at her.

It was a strange feeling, the one that tightened between his chest and his throat when he realized that it wasn't the first or the last time Brienne would be called a 'dyke' right to her very face. She might have learned to ignore it, but he would do no such thing.

Afterwards, he barely remembered the decision to do something about it. One second he was about to insult her, and the next he was jogging towards the wench, but with her true her name on his lips and a dazzling smile which bore none of the sharpness from earlier.

She dropped her box of equipment, alright, but not for the reason he had originally intended. When he skidded to a stop next to her, slinging an arm around her waist and wrapping the other behind her head, lacrosse sticks, balls and gloves went scattering haphazardly across the pavement. Her eyes were wide in confusion the instant before he shut his own and captured her lips in a kiss which he was sure would put any Ryan Gosling movie to shame, but her body was firm and her mouth warm and he might have forgotten he had only done this for a reaction if it weren't for the loud screech of tires and the grinding of metal which drove them apart.

He called a tow truck for the girls, but calmly informed them through the car window that he couldn't wait for their parents to arrive because he had plans to keep with his girlfriend. They hadn't answered back, but their shell shocked faces had been enough vindication to leave mom and dad with a few hundred dollars worth of car repairs and a completely flattened stop sign.

Brienne was attempting to scoop the scattered gear back into her box with trembling hands when he returned to her, her face and neck such a shade of red that he had as of yet not beheld on her or any other object of nature. Without skipping a beat, he seized ahold of her wrists and brought her swinging to her feet while informing her that he would take her to buy new equipment, and then they were going to have dinner. Together.

She tried to argue, but he silenced her with another kiss. He didn't know if the girls were still watching, but strangely enough, he found he didn't care.

Myrcella called only minutes later while they were pulling out of the parking lot and leaving the crushed car in their wake, and only then did he remember the forgotten sports bra stuffed in his console which had been the sole cause for his trip to the school in the first place. He shot Brienne a look she was probably too stunned to catch from her spot in the passenger seat before starting to throw the car in reverse, but the voice on the other end of the line cut off his apology with a squeal of pure excitement when she heard her teacher's voice in the background. 

"Oh who cares about a silly old grade anyway, Uncle Jaime! Is it true then, are you really dating Coach Tarth?!"

Word travels fast in High School...but he supposed he just might be.


	2. Coach Tarth is Confused

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I had ABSOLUTELY no intention of writing another chapter, but everyone was so FANTASTIC in their reviews that I couldn't help it. This one isn't nearly as entertaining in my opinion, but oh well, here goes!

She almost breathed a sigh of relief when his phone rang.

Or maybe she actually did, but given her state of being at the time she couldn't be completely sure.

Her mind was whirring frantically for some sort of logic to which she could cling that would have given the last twenty minutes of her life a shred of sanity. Surely, he would answer the call, mentally high five his co-conspirator listening on the other end of the line in celebration of their successful humiliation of Coach Brienne Tarth, ugliest woman in Westeros, and then proceed to kick her to the curb before she could blink. That would make sense...even though nothing else had.

Because it had to be some sort of sick joke. There was no other reason Jaime Lannister would kiss someone like herself of his own free will, let alone offer- no, demand, to take her to dinner (the whole buying new lacrosse gear was a different kind of weird, but the girls really deserve new stuff so she was willing to overlook that bit for now).

At least she knew where she stood with mockery. She had dealt with such her whole life, from strangers, classmates, neighbors, and even now through remarks she pretended not to overhear between her fellow teachers. That sort of thing was the norm for her, and she had thought she knew how to handle it. This, on the other hand, was definitely out of her realm. She had no idea what to do, say or think...which must have been why she had gotten into his car with him in the first place.

He laughed into the receiver, and the sound brought her out of her thoughts. It wasn't like other times he had leered at her or she had heard him chuckle snidely through her television screen, like he was in on a joke the audience couldn't possibly know about...not that she ever watched his segments on the news anyway...(or at least, not very often).

This sort of laugh was far too genuine, the kind he shared with his niece while they made their way back to the car after the work-outs Myrcella participated in with the lacrosse team. The sound of it reminded her why she had agreed to follow him in the first place, of the startling sincerity in his green eyes the moment before he had leaned in to press his lips to hers. There was no anger, no bitterness, no haughty arrogance contained in those emerald depths, just an overwhelming clarity...which strangely enough reminded her of his niece. It sounded much creepier when she thought about it like that though.

It would have been an understatement to say that she had been nervous the first time she read Myrcella's name on the short roster for her medieval lit. class. Gripped by sudden and total dread, more like. She might have been new to town but even she had heard about the infamous Lannisters...even the ones who technically bore the name of Baratheon. Cersei's face had been in the papers and on the news enough for Brienne to recognize, although the woman's father had utilized his influence to the umpteenth power to keep things as quiet as possible about her trial. Nevertheless, when Myrcella took her seat in the front row on the first day of class, all golden curls and designer jeans and those trademark green eyes, the new teacher with only one semester under her belt felt her stomach drop to her knees. If the girl acted half as much like her mother as she looked, this course would surely be disastrous.

So it had come as a pleasant surprise then, when Myrcella raised her hand politely right after roll call, asking in a voice sweet as honey if they would be studying Lancelot and Guinevere, because she thought their story was just terribly romantic and she would just love to learn more if it was in the syllabus please.

Brienne held her breath for a moment, trying to see if she could somehow distinguish a jape in the question, but came up empty handed under her pupil's eager gaze. It had been the same gaze her uncle fixed upon her, and one she trusted more than she probably should have.

It hasn't been too hard to rearrange the coursework to fit in a segment on King Arthur, anyway.

She had been just about ready to give him a chance to explain himself, when she heard Jaime laugh offhandedly into his phone that he was 'sorry about the bra', and he would 'give it back tonight' and she cursed her own naivety. Already flushed a shade of crimson to match the Audi's custom paint job, she felt her cheeks burn an even darker red as she tried to shrink into the passenger seats luxurious apolstry (and failed miserably, of course). As if it hadn't been humiliating enough to have fallen for Jaime Lannister's foul prank in the first place, she had to witness him making plans with a lover right in front of her face! She made plans to bolt at the next red light when he ended the call and caught her eye with a grin.

A grin that ws still just honest enough to give her doubts. All of the the harsh words in her mouth died on her tongue as he reached out to press the back of his hand to her forehead.

"Feeling a bit fevered, wench?"

She jerked away from him a second too late to realize that the light which they had been sitting at had already changed to green and she had missed her chance for escape. She was going to ask him to explain himself, but he proceeded to do so in his own fashion unprompted...not that anything he said made sense though, because it was all about owing Myrcella a couple of new sports bras, and how she's got to remind him to pick some up when they go to the sporting goods store for the lacrosse equipment after dinner.

What?

She should have been embarrassed by how breathlessly meek and timid she sounded when she managed to stammer out the words to ask him what in the world was going on, but her heart was pounding and her head was whirling and she just couldn't get enough of a hold on her emotions to care. And that scared her. He just laughed again, and only reiterated what he had told her previously, that they were getting something to eat without offering much more in ways of an explanation except to ask if she liked Greek food. He didn't wait for an answer, but she managed to nod her head yes all the same, though she hardly thinks it would have mattered if she said otherwise. It is too much of a coincidence not to wonder if he knew, or if he remembered that she baked baklava for her class when they were studying the Byzantine empire. Myrcella had begged for the recipe, insisting that she had to make it for her uncle's birthday, because he had done a semester abroad there in college and was always complaining of the lack of authenticity in the dishes he had been subjected to since returning. The girl had jotted down the ingredients along with the name of Brienne's favorite restaurant she recommended they try, and wrapped up a piece of the pastry in Kleenex to take home with her.

She had had to bite her tongue later that week when he picked Myrcella up from to stop herself from asking if he had liked it. She had a sneaking suspicion he knew anyway.

The air is almost knocked out of her lungs when he pulled up alongside the valet at the very same restaurant. The hostess recognized her at once, and tried to hide her double-take when she did the same with him. The girl smiled as best she could in the midst of the perplexing situation before her, confusion etched on her face as to what they were doing together, not to mention which of their usual spots to place the two at. In the end they get his table (hidden out of the way and off in a corner) but her server (Pod's eyes almost bug out of their sockets at the sight of her companion), and there is wine in her glass before she could even open a menu...if she needed to, which she doesn't.

When he picked up his glass and raised it to hers across the table, she had to will her hands to stop shaking lest she spill the surely expensive contents all over the stark white tablecloth.

"How about a toast, wench?"

At that, though, she all but slammed her drink down and let the Pinot spill over the edge of the glass without giving the slightest of a damn for the state of the tablecloth. She spoke through clenched jaws, muscles tight and and jumping from the strain of forcing the tears which burned in her eyes not to fall.

"My name. Is. Brienne." She growled, staring resolutely down at the untouched basket of pita bread between them. Her head and her heart warred within her, and she did not trust either of them not to betray her now in her weakest moment if she let her guard down even the slightest. Stoically, she counted the flecks of brown in the bread to settle herself, and in her concentration did not notice his hand snaking across the table until it was rested atop her own.

She jumped in her chair, and her gaze flickered from his fingers tracing small circles across the back of her hand to his face, suddenly serious in the dim lighting.

"I know your name." He said in a voice so low it sent an involuntary shiver down her spine.

"Then why...why don't you use it? And why did you do...that...back there? Why did you even bring me here?

"I only did what I wanted to do, so you can stop thinking I've got an ulterior motive right now. I'm not a teenaged girl who hides behind car windows to make myself feel like a badass. I don't have to try to do that-I already am. Besides, isn't it obviously? I've just been dying for a chance to engage these titillating conversational skills of yours."

"Well...well-"

"Well what, wench? Come now, you've already made-out with me in front of your place of employment, there shouldn't be any secrets between us."

The man was beyond infuriating. "You kissed me! I did not make-out (she couldn't believe she was saying those words) with you! So if you think I'm going to go home with you tonight and fall into your bed out of gratitude, I wont! I'm some sort of...of..."

He threw a hand up to his chest in mock horror, and suddenly her own felt cold and empty alone on the table. "You wound me, I would never assume such things! And besides-" she wasn't sure she liked the look in his eyes, "I only rescue maidens."

At this point, she thought it might be impossible for her skin to ever return to any shade other than lobster red.

She wondered if he were telling the truth...and she wondered if he would try to kiss her again.

She was right on both accounts.


	3. Myrcella is Delighted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For real this time, guys. I'm done!

Uncle Jaime had totally forgotten to pick her up from cheer practice (or bring her the right sports bra), but that was like, beyond okay with her.

Coach Tyrell said her facial expressions were perfect today, and he wasn't one to give compliments lightly. Not to sound like she was bragging or anything, but she hadn't even been trying. It had been next to impossible to keep her mind on the routine at all, and the smile on her face had been unavoidable despite her distraction. How could she help it, when in the back of her mind all she could think about was the fact that her Uncle Jaime, most eligible bachelor in all of Westeros, was on an actual date with her favorite teacher!? This was totes a made for TV movie moment!

She hadn't been able to believe it when she first read about 'the kiss' on Facebook that afternoon, right before practice started. In fact, she probably wouldn't have given it a second thought if there hadn't been actual photo proof right in front of her of the back of her uncle's perfectly disheveled blonde head and Coach Tarth's nervously flailing arms. It had been a blurry shot, but unmistakable nonetheless. Evidently, in her haste to capture the image, Myranda had totally not been paying attention to the road and plowed right into the stop sign outside the teacher's parking lot.

Myrcella sensed a 'don't text and drive' assembly at school sometime in the near future. She hoped it would be during first period, because Chemistry with Mr. Martell was killer.

Right now though, since she was just a passenger in Sansa's car, she was free to text all she wanted while her teammate gave her a ride home. Sansa was just as eager to get the scoop as she was, so she didn't mind being ignored for a bit while Myrcella's fingers flew on the screen (although as a general rule, both girls agreed it was super rude to disregard present company for those of the electronic kind). She hadn't gotten too far in her quest, though. Uncle Jaime's response hadn't confirmed what she saw online, but then again he hadn't denied it either, and she was anxious to find out more details. She took it as a good sign that neither one of them were replying to her texts, and Sansa agreed with her. Thank goodness she still had Coach's cell number from when she had been locked out of the lacrosse room a few weeks ago!

Sansa Stark didn't have Coach Tarth in school, but her little sister Arya was on the lacrosse team and they were both fond of the teacher. The upperclassman had become a friend of sorts to Myrcella since her older brother graduated...things had been super awkward for a hot minute there when she broke up with Joff, even though no one blamed her. Well, that wasn't entirely correct. Myrcella's mother probably did, but she had a sneaking suspicion that the breakup's alignment with Cersei's absence wasn't a coincidence. Things were better now between the girls, it was easier to have a conversation without worrying that someone might bring her brother up since that he was off at college (and for the most part out of sight out of mind). 

She couldn't say the same for her mother. Though she only saw her sparingly during visiting hours, Myrcella felt her reflected in the eyes of everyone who immediately noted their resemblance. Hardly anyone dared to mention the scandal, at least to her face, but she knew what people whispered about her family. She tried her best to smile extra brightly whenever she caught someone giving her a disapproving look, as though she hasn't the slightest why they might cut their eyes in her direction. It usually worked.

She was not a particularly clever girl, she had taken enough standardized tests which had all but told her as much to prove that. But Uncle Tyrion, who was like, the wisest person she knew, said that by means meant she was dumb. She did well enough in school to keep her GPA fairly high, but she had to work hard for her grades, not at all like Joff who was always too smart (and ridiculously cocky about it) for his own good. However, she had enough of her wits about her to realize that kindness would get her further with people than her mother's scheming ever had. Mother and Joff had said, in no uncertain terms, that she was pretty much vapid for believing that it was better to be loved than feared, but she loved the two of them more than she was scared of them, so she thought that said enough on the subject right there. Neither had been very supportive when she joined the squad, but her uncles had always showed up at her games with a smile and given her the benefit of a doubt.

And so now she was willing to do the same with her Mother. She did not know if she had had anything to do with Daddy's death, and she preferred not to think about it. Uncle Jaime hasn't let her watch the trial, and she was glad for it. Maybe she was being ignorant, and maybe she was being naive, but right now...she just couldn't. Myrcella knew her Mother wasn't perfect, far from it rather, but she had loved her, still loved her, and nothing was going to change that.

Daddy died in a drunk driving accident, and it was sad and she missed him, but hating her mother for it wasn't going to bring him back. For certainly Mother had flaws, but she was still her mother, and always would be. Myrcella wasn't interested in looking for a new one.

But an aunt, on the other hand...she thought she would rather like one of those.

It wasn't as simple as it might have seemed. She had two uncles, both well past marrying age, and yet neither possessed a wife to speak of. Uncle Jaime didn't so much 'date,' despite his reputation, and Uncle Tyrion did enough flitting from girl to girl for the both of them, so it wasn't really a surprise that neither one had settled down. 

Both her grandfather and herself were pretty disappointed in that, though she suspected their motives for feeling the way they did couldn't have been any more different. It would take a special lady to put up with either one of these perpetual bachelors, but she had good faith that just the right one would waltz in and rock their worlds someday.

And then it had happened, and in a way no one would have expected. Uncle Jaime rarely watched his own segments on the news, but Uncle Tyrion had set the DVR to record them (in case of needed blackmail, he had told her). So when he came home grinning more than a little smugly, even for him, and played back the coverage of the girls lacrosse team interview, it piqued her interest.

"Hey Myrcella, is this one of your teacher?" He called out to where she had her homework spread out over the kitchen table. Tommen sat next to her, biting his lip thoughtfully as he entered numbers in his calculator and she kissed the top of his head fondly when she stood.

Her little brother's kitten mewled in complaint as she lifted it out of its spot next to her uncle and slid into place on the couch. She stroked his fuzzy belly to quiet him (the cat's, not her uncle's) and looked up to find Coach Tarth staring out from their television distrustfully.

"Yeah, she's my medieval literature teacher. You've heard me talk about her before. She's really great!"

"Mmm," he murmured noncommittally, "worst person I've ever interviewed, hand down, that one."

"Uncle Jaime! That isn't nice!"

She repeated the phrase several times throughout the course of them watching the replayed coverage, but he only grinned wider and wider as the interview continued to deteriorate. Though he didn't date around, her uncle was used to women fawning over him, especially on camera, and it was obvious he found the change Coach Tarth brought amusing. And amusing was good, because that meant he didn't find her boring...which was pretty weird, because she had kind of a reputation among the students (and probably the other teachers too) for being just that. 

But Myrcella didn't think so. Coach Tarth's class was one of her favorites, something she actually looked forward to during the school week. The work which was assigned was hard, but she liked that, liked having to try. Way too many of her teachers either doted on her because of who her grandfather was, granting her extended deadlines or a generous curve...or they hated her at first sight because of her association with the Lannister name. Again, she did a lot of smiling. Coach Tarth helped her when she needed it, definitely, but she did the same for everyone in class, no matter who they were (or how much smack they talked about her when they thought she couldn't hear). Somehow though, she just managed to turn the other cheek. She was just a good person, like, the old-timey, genuine kind of good you recognized from Disney movies...who just happened to look nothing like Cinderella. When she offered to let Myrcella work out with the lacrosse team, she knew she did it just to be nice, and not to gain any sort of foothold in the Lannister empire. 

It was pretty cool, to be a normal girl among other normal girls at least somewhere.

So maybe she talked about Coach a lot at home. She talked a lot, period, so that wasn't much of a change.

Maybe she took her time in the locker room when Uncle Jaime was waiting to pick her up from practice. She didn't actually have a lacrosse locker, so it actually made perfect sense that she would be the last one in there.

And maybe she made sure they went to that Greek restaurant Coach recommended at least like, once a week. Pod was pretty much the only reason she was passing Geometry, anyway, even though she was so sick of gyros she might vomit.

It was all worth it, she thought as she waved bye to Sansa and walked into a delightfully empty house. Uncle Tyrion had taken to picking up Tommen and keeping him for awhile when she had practice, so Uncle Jaime and her usually had movie and popcorn nights (anything with Ryan Gosling was a staple) on Wednesdays, which obviously wasn't going to happen that night. She had the place to herself and she couldnt say she minded in the least, if meant what she hoped it did. Still, she was absolutely giddy with anticipation for Uncle Tyrion to come over so that she could let him in on the drastic spike in his brother's nonexistent love life. When she did, he suggested installing surveillance cameras on the porch, and there was a glint in his mismatched eyes that suggested he wasn't entirely kidding. She couldn't wait to see what Coach thought of her other uncle. Those two were going to be fun.

Her alarm clock ticked down steadily, and she didn't mean to wait up on her uncle, but she was pretty sure it was sometime past midnight when she finally heard the back door creak open and the muffled clatter of keys dropped on the kitchen counter. Smiling into her pillow, she slept like a baby after that.

And she's even more sure that there was a poorly concealed hickey on her teacher's neck the following day in class. Not to mention a massive blush on her cheeks when she caught Myrcella looking.

But most of all, what she is completely and totally sure of, is that she has never seen her uncle look so flipping happy in her entire sixteen years of life.

She better get to be maid of honor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing like a modern teenager is awesome, and yet strange. Had to make sure I didn't let any "mayhaps" slip in there.
> 
> You guys are awesome. Your comments are seriously just the absolute best!


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